The Next of Kin eBook

“It seemed queer to look at this letter and
know that I would never get another one from the boys.
Letters from the boys have been a big thing to me
for many years. Billy and Tom were away from me
for a long time before the war, and they never failed
to write. Frank was never away from me until
he went over, and he was not much of a letter-writer,—­just
a few sentences! ’Hello, mother, how are
you? I’m O.K. Hope you are the same.
Sleeping well, and eating everything I can lay my
hands on. The box came; it was sure a good one.
Come again. So-long!’ That was the style
of Frank’s letter. ’I don’t
want this poor censor to be boring his eyes out trying
to find state secrets in my letters,’ he said
another time, apologizing for the shortness of it.
’There are lots of things that I would like to
tell you, but I guess they will keep until I get home—­I
always could talk better than write.’ ...
But this letter is different. He seemed to know
that he was going—­west, as they say, and
he wrote so seriously; all the boyishness had gone
from him, and he seemed to be old, much older than
I am. These boys of ours are all older than we
are now,—­they have seen so much of life’s
sadness—­they have got above it; they see
so many of their companions go over that they get
a glimpse of the other shore. They are like very
old people who cannot grieve the way younger people
can at leaving this life.”

Then I read the boy’s letter.

“Dear Mother,” it ran, “We are out
resting now, but going in to-morrow to tackle the
biggest thing that we have pulled off yet. You’ll
hear about it, I guess. Certainly you will if
we are successful. I hope that this letter will
go safely, for I want you to know just how I feel,
and that everything is fine with me. I used to
be scared stiff that I would be scared, but I haven’t
been—­there seems to be something that stands
by you and keeps your heart up, and with death all
around you, you see it is not so terrible. I have
seen so many of the boys pass out, and they don’t
mind it. They fight like wild-cats while they
can, but when their turn comes they go easy. The
awful roar of the guns does it. The silent tomb
had a horrible sound to me when I was at home, but
it sounds like a welcome now. Anyway, mother,
whatever happens you must not worry. Everything
is all right when you get right up to it—­even
death. I just wish I could see you, and make
you understand how light-hearted I feel. I never
felt better; my only trouble is that you will be worried
about me, but just remember that everything is fine,
and that I love you.

“FRANK.”

AT THE LAST!

O God, who hears the smallest cry
That ever rose from human
soul,
Be near my mother when she reads
My name upon the Honor Roll;
And when she sees it written there,
Dear Lord, stand to, behind
her chair!